


but in your dreams whatever they be; dream a little dream of me

by huanginjuns



Series: dear d.r.e.a.m. [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Established Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Gen, Huang Ren Jun-centric, Inception - Freeform, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mentioned NCT Dream Ensemble, OT7 NCT Dream, Panic Attacks, Psychological Horror, They all need a hug, not-so-graphic, renjun needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 19:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20068972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huanginjuns/pseuds/huanginjuns
Summary: Husband?! Oh my fucking Lord, Renjun thinks.His queasiness came crashing back into his system for the umpteenth time. Even as Jaemin’s mom had specifically told them to come back downstairs to that dreaded dinner table, he couldn’t.He shouldn’t.





	but in your dreams whatever they be; dream a little dream of me

**Author's Note:**

> stan doris day, thats basically what the title is saying.
> 
> really can't believe lofi (and conan gray) got me into really old music whoa.
> 
> also my country's music--theyre good at feeding inspiration.
> 
> anyways yeah to my friends who have anticipated this garbage, hi. yall definitely know that ive been dying and just releasing all my devastation and demons in this fic (whoa edgy, i blame nct dream's rotational ass) so i hope you enjoy i guess

_Thump-thump_

_Thump-thump…_

Renjun knew his eyes were open but the pitch darkness had insisted on convincing him otherwise.

Now add the veil of whiteness that would appear occasionally to mock his dependence on it. His spatial abilities failed to follow the physics of the swirling dust.

The buzzing sound sprouted from the deafening silence.

He tentatively took a step—solid ground.

Renjun looked around—left… then right—nothingness.

Confusion lingered around him.

Where the hell is he?

Renjun blinked once—twice—three times.

Brightness of scenes that remained omnipresent sped past his eyes. His ears weren't mistaken when he heard the roaring chimes of giant bells and smacks of applause yet… 

They grew distant from him... 

… Gradually

It all becomes an echo bouncing in his eardrums.

_What the fuck…?_

Renjun wasn't kidding when he thinks of how surreal the meal was. In fact, the surrealism built up an all-too familiar tingling feeling in his chest.

Maybe it’s the dull throb of his head that made his senses flutter. Or maybe it's the shrewd self-perception of his body language that brought him to presume that he's in a dream.

(Dream…?)

Renjun wasn't sure.

He, however, was sure that he couldn't ignore the underlying apprehension that continued to fizz all over his veins; that's for sure.

Who is he kidding? Look at his friends.

If it weren't for Chenle’s cold, dull stares that stood out amongst the rest of his friends' eerie smiling ones, or the fact that—might he mention, Jeno's dazzling eye-smiles and deep sighs in the uncanny ambience of the large dining room, Renjun would've completely dismissed it as normal.

Jaemin’s own parents were, for lack of a better term, _normal_.

But that wasn't the worst part.

He had his hand clasped onto Jaemin _himself_ of all people, which, Renjun had to admit, held a sort of familiarity as the bunch would spew affections with one another. However, something about this made him feel so belonged, like the hand was meant to be a puzzle piece to Jaemin's, yet so…

_Wrong_.

Renjun had to snap out of it.

No, this is utterly and very wrong and he would stand by that statement, period.

His eyes darted across Jeno, a pang of guiltiness taking over to vandalize his face. Yet by some means, Jeno’s expression persisted on—even sighing so lovingly on what a _glorious_ couple they were.

That was enough to make him snap.

Because Renjun thinks—no, he _knows_ that this sort of paramour—paramour?—wouldn't make Jeno so happy about it—so happy about _them_. And Jeno’s mind wasn’t a hurricane anymore, that's for sure. Jeno’s madly in love with Jaemin and- and- and-

‘It's a dream. If not, a hallucination’ is what Renjun racked up as a thought process.

Chanted it over and over, hoping that his sanity wouldn’t slip—not in a given situation like this.

The erratic palpitations drummed in his ears. It didn’t help that the air already felt way denser than it was before. This _does_ not feel right, Renjun decides, gradually getting closer to hyperventilating.

He removed any sort of physical contact from his apparent partner, dragging his chair more to Donghyuck on his left. The noise he made had tipped all their heads to his direction in a creepy synchronization.

Suddenly the meal wasn't so appetizing anymore; he was nauseous. The world was spinning around him.

_One second… Two…_

The sound of the chair's legs scraping against the marble floor echoed within the four walls yet again. Renjun had stood up, pursed his lips and took hold of Jeno's arm—all while looking at the unblinking people on the table with utmost caution.

He locked the door, wedged a chair under the handle and heaved a sigh.

Renjun hoped that safety does him favors, at least for a while.

He fished for anything in his pocket: a borrowed phone or his own…

… Nothing

The smaller teen averted his attention from that to Jeno, who was at the former’s peripheral view, to scrutinize his behavior.

Upon closer inspection, the other teen’s crescent gaze was emptier than what Renjun had dredged up, smile never wavering. He was basically entranced; that’s all there is to it.

Renjun’s eyebrows furrowed and his shoulders sagged—a sign of frustration.

‘What was he going to do now?’ will now be his new motto.

A yelp blundered out of his mouth when the sudden knock on the door came around with Jaemin’s mother peeping through the wood, crooning something along the lines of Renjun’s “foolish impudence” to drag “some man” into his husband’s bedroom, especially with her own son’s presence downstairs.

_Husband…?! _Oh my fucking Lord, Renjun thinks.

His queasiness came crashing back into his system for the umpteenth time. Even as Jaemin’s mom had specifically told them to come back downstairs to _that_ dreaded dinner table, he couldn’t.

He shouldn’t.

Footsteps left an earshot away from Renjun.

“No, no, no, no, _no_,” Renjun had spoken after a while, lips shedding with desiccation.

He found himself pacing restlessly in front of a hypnotized Jeno, “Come on, Injun; _think!_”

Were they kidnapped? Questions, for the nth time, flooded the crevices of his brain and they were all answered by no one.

Renjun shook his head frantically, eyes wilding with calculations; tears the stupid beret off his head—said headdress crumpling on the cold floor, combed his hands messily through his dark auburn locks and—sweet baby Jesus, he didn’t feel the drench of sweat until he removed his tux. Engrossed in rolling his sleeves, he let his thoughts go back to assault him.

So what if he knows this wasn’t real, how else were they going to get out of here? What is really going on with the others? Are they even real as well? W-

A sigh escaped from Jeno’s lips that halted Renjun from his business to appropriately take a good look at him.

“Jeno,” Renjun began and, again, he ignored the woman’s biddings—something about the abundance of foodstuff going cold. “Jeno can you hear me?”

Renjun started snapping his fingers in front of the other male…

It didn’t work.

“Talk to me…”

With no plan in mind, his eyebrows furrowed. Why he decided to take the younger out of all people though, Renjun was trying to search for the reason behind that as well. Mayhap it’s the way the uncharacteristic behavior that compelled his whole being to take Jeno upstairs in the room.

Who would blame him though? Jeno’s facial expression was as concerning as it was disturbing.

Then again, in apocalyptic scenarios, their oldest, Mark, would’ve been a fine choice to ‘cure’ first—hopefully they’re real people (Renjun brushed the thought off), but make no mistake, Jeno with a spring in his step makes a reliable second in-command. He wished Jaemin could learn a thing or two about that—

Oh, God, Na Jaemin.

Memories washed over Renjun again and he couldn’t help closing his eyes due to how overwhelming it was.

Yes, he felt as revitalized as ever, note the sarcasm.

The events at the dining room weighed a heavy toll on his behalf and he shuddered at how real that felt. It arose all the heavy turmoil he worked so _goddamn_ hard to repress and—

_Screw it._

“Jeno, I swear to fucking God,” Renjun oh-so desperately pleaded under his breath.

He sat vis-à-vis Jeno on the king-sized bed—albeit unnervingly. One couldn’t blame the vocalist given how his best friend was full of life similar to that of a corpse.

He proceeded to search any spark of life in their rapper’s eyes hysterically.

Renjun searched for anything… just _anything_ Jeno-like to remind him that the younger was there.

“Jeno-yah…” Renjun felt his voice crack but who the hell cares at this point, “it’s not even funny anymore—you’re never even funny to begin with! Just stop it already _please_…” His voice—faltering; his composed façade was crumbling.

Never had it dawned upon him at how _alone_ he feels until now.

Well, crying wasn’t going to miraculously cure the victim, Renjun stated in his head.

He fisted a handful of Jeno’s tuxedo, an exact replica of his that was already on the floor, by the sleeve and lightly shook him—progressively getting harsher—but to no avail. He remained unresponsive.

Renjun was left with only one choice.

Okay, make that two.

Kissing Lee Jeno to ‘wake’ him up was ludicrous, enough said; therefore, out of the question. Doing that will be akin to the storm after the calm and that was not really what Renjun is required to have right now.

Alright then, make that one choice.

Slicing through the silence was the blaring sound of skin against skin in chorus with a loud yelp.

Eureka.

The taller boy’s eyes twinkled with life at the wink of their eye contact before he closed them shut in pain. No sooner had he opened them than he looked at Renjun’s in a dazed.

Then there was nothing.

Nothing but the clock’s monotonous ticking in between the stillness of it all when dark brown eyes reflect the other.

A few ticks passed and two flickers of his eyelids before Jeno squeaked an “… Injunnie…?”

That was enough to send the Chinese teen in haywire. He tackled the younger to a bone-crushing hug synchronized with incoherent words of bliss—maybe some ‘Renjun’ phrases like “you little shit, you scared me shitless; never do that again”-s for example, just bubbling up his brain and out of him. 

Renjun quickly took note of the BVLGARI cologne’s aroma. How soothing the fragrance is coming from someone who just got out of a hypnotized state.

Bemused, Jeno slowly reciprocated the hug, “Ah, what exactly is happening?”

“Believe me, that’s what I’ve been trying to find out too.” Renjun pulled away, nose clogging with mucus and eyes puffy, “But I had to make sure you’re alive,”

“By slapping me…?”

“Yes, by slapping you.”

Jeno squinted and wrinkled his nose, soothing the inflicted pain on his cheek with one hand. 

“So where are we? And what’s the special occasion?” He looked at his outfit and then at Renjun’s, rinse and repeat.

But the knock on the door left Jeno’s questions unanswered. Their heads pivoted to the direction of the pathway out of their safe haven.

Jeno stood up, placed a protective arm in front of a sitting Renjun. His face was stoned with dead-seriousness.

This time it was Jaemin’s father, asking them to come down as they were carving pumpkins and, please do be sensible, if Renjun was in fact committing an illicit affair and mentioning if this is some kind of “trend for the new generation”.

Silence followed by footsteps that gradually grows faint to be audible.

“Injun…”

Renjun exhaled the air that he subconsciously locked in him. He looked up to see Jeno, features now softened, “I really don’t know what’s happening, I promise. Could be a dream, if I’m not mistaken? But it’s too real—or a new level of hallucination… Or a social experiment?”

Jeno whistled, “Didn’t know you had it in you to commit an ‘illicit affair’ according to _abeonim_…”

Renjun’s eyes widened, guilt putting him in a chokehold all over again. Jeno looked down on his ring finger.

Renjun did the same.

But regret had sunk in the moment he laid his eyes upon it. He wanted to hurl.

The ring glistened under the light and it derided him. It seared a grave reminder of a true home-wrecking behavior.

Renjun mouthed a ‘what the fuck’.

He pursed his lips. _Husband…_

“Nope, mine’s all empty”—Jeno wiggled his fingers to show off the nudity of it all— “but_ abeonim_ said affair—seemed pretty calm about it but anyways, we’re not married; so out of the question… That leaves you with the ring.”

Leave it to Jeno, the seventh wheel in the dinner table prior, to observe the most miniscule of details.

(Renjun wasn’t sure if Chenle and Jisung was a couple as well but it’s safe to assume that way, he reasoned in his mind.)

“It was a blur,” Renjun stated.

That was partly true but he didn’t let the lying part slip away through his shaky breaths.

“It felt unbearable… you know, being there,” Renjun rubbed his arms, concentrating hard on normally breathing. Jeno was listening intently—he always does. He silently urged Renjun to continue.

“We were all at the dinner table before I grabbed you and dragged you up here.” Renjun looked at Jeno who, after responding with a lackluster “ah…” had sat back down beside him with his hands clasped together.

Renjun would’ve told him outright to sit up straight due to the rapper’s habit of having a poor posture but now’s not really the time considering… yeah.

Renjun surmised that he must have taken a lot of drugs to have a dream like this. Or whatever goes on.

He fidgeted with his recently discovered ring on his ring finger. He contemplated hard enough on whether or not he should hide it to numb the barking reminder of his engagement with—

“Speaking of which, where is here?” Jeno’s eyes wandered around the room.

Prior to that, Renjun had done the same. He could say he was in _his_ room. He hasn’t mentioned this but the complex beauty in those paintings had always bothered him.

“You ask a lot of questions as if I know what’s going on,” Renjun placed an amount of sting in the tone.

He wasn’t sure anymore if he was aggravated with the fact that Jeno’s asking the exact same questions that loitered in the teen’s head this entire time or that he’s _hiding_ something from him and it’s eating him up inside.

But the Korean was as patient as a preschool teacher in the sea of children. Nonetheless he shared his light demands of answering his question.

Hermes shoes clicked against the floor. Renjun had stood up to the suspicious call of the paintings. He took a closer look at the squiggles on every corner of every painting. All of them were eerily similar—more or less the _same_, to his signature.

Renjun’s suspicions were correct but that didn’t stop the chills that jolted on his spine, forever etching in the back of his head to open up the repressed thoughts of what he had prior.

He heard Jeno’s footsteps from the back—most likely wearing a look of concern.

“We’re standing in what it looks like to be Jaemin’s room. And also probably mine. I’m pretty certain,” Renjun, masking an emotionless expression with fear in his eyes, picked up a creepy wedding picture of Jaemin and him—blank faces and all—from atop of the dresser only to place it back down face first, “that Jaemin and I are married.”

* * *

There was one thing that Jisung hated the most.

And that was losing to an online battle in Super Smash Bros.

It couldn’t be helped anyway.

He cursed, chewed the inside of his cheek in vexation and turned off the Nintendo Switch, the only source of light, and utter darkness was what entered his eyesight.

Leave it to his intuition to convince himself that he can play Princess Peach well only to be body-bag by her own hero, Link.

Was it Link? Maria?

Great… More stuff to be pissed off about.

His eyes were beginning to droop, welling up with tears when he yawned.

Jisung’s roommate in their loft suite, Jeno, was knocked out after a long day’s work of countless variety shows but the day seemed to drag on longer than his liking no matter how much time he endeavored to murder with the console on hand.

Might he add that Jeno being awake and asleep didn't really make a difference, did it? It's why he takes the championship title of “no jam”.

The dancer chuckled at that.

What with all the inside jokes and how the utter chaos they created even before their debut. It left such a trail to look back on. He remembered those days when the entire members had surprised him on his thirteenth birthday. He couldn’t forget that.

Suddenly he wasn’t so sleepy anymore.

Reminiscing did have its wonders after all.

Jisung’s face loomed in the glaring screen of his phone that flashed _12:23am_. He figures why not.

The sentimentalist in him could not be helped.

_“When life gives you lemons, go to the dance studio”_

Jisung hoped that he would be able to make the crowd feel moved by his own motto.

To be completely frank, he didn’t know why he was here. Call it a rush of adrenaline from the warm feelings of nostalgia but...

Okay, maybe that was the case.

For real, it’s as though his body ceased its own control to grab the hotel keys and his cap. (Did he lock the room?) Then his feet decided to take him to their private dance studio—miraculously not getting caught with anybody or anyone at all.

In all seriousness, his _hyungs_ would know what’s up when he sneaked behind their backs to the dance studio.

This place was his breath of fresh air. It refreshed mind. Yeah, that was it.

Was he sad? Happy? Mad? Whatever. Who the fuck cares, go to the dance studio.

So when the maknae played the song that reminded him so vividly of his six obnoxious, fun-loving hyungs and made an artwork of his choreography through it, he felt at ease.

He was in his own realm.

Unfortunately, that did not age well.

Jisung decided to reevaluate his life choices lest the obstreperous racket of the “Marimba” ringtone rippled on the soothing music again (which was exactly happening at this very moment).

He slid on the frictionless floor to meet his phone in the corner only for the ringtone to end itself. Soon after, it was followed with the ‘dings’ of messages. After a face scan from his iPhone X, it was met with a spam of texts from his loving hyung.

**Lele-hyung 🌞🌞**

**1:45am**

Mochi you shit you left the hotel room unlocked

**1:45am**

And open? Chief…

**1:46am**

Guess ur gonna have to face Renjun-ge’s wrath once I tell him ur awake n u sneaked off again lmao

So much for a temporary getaway, Jisung thinks. He was prepared to reply something snarky involving “Renjun monster” and how the younger Chinese teen was also awake at this hour but Jisung knows buying convenience store food for him on the way would shut him up.

And he did just that.

**1:50am**

ok go off ig

* * *

“Married, huh?”

Renjun wondered what had the ring that he was currently fiddling on, may entail with whatever fate he had with the youngest of their year.

The mere thought of Jaemin’s face sped through his mind—the dazed but handsome grin plastered on him at the dining table moments ago. How drastically tangible and _domestic_ it was when his hand was looped with his; imagines the ideality of settling in, adopting a child or two perchance…

He shredded those images into oblivion.

He didn’t want to know the entailment’s details now, he decided. His stomach was doing unsolicited somersaults.

All Renjun could do was nod once before licking his pursed lips. He looked over to witness Jeno rolling his sleeves. The rolled sleeves were deemed apropos—a mere overstatement, really.

It’s disorganized, to put it simply.

Displeased, Renjun goes over to the taller boy to fix it all for him.

Although he had already confessed on what was going on, still Renjun’s anxiety gnawed on him. “Yeah, I suppose so. And apparently you have to also be all smiles and do no shit about it when you’ve committed an ‘illicit affair’…”

Jeno chuckled—eye smiles genuine this time, “Let dreams be dreams, I guess. It gets more distortedly weird the more we invest into it,”

“Uh…” Jeno reassessed his choice of words. “It won’t happen here, would it?”

“Who knows?” Renjun darkly responded. Quietness soon followed after.

The air grew thicker and it sparked pinpricks underneath his feet.

The Chinese teen believed he was right though, who knows? They could be spiraling in layers upon layers of this so-called dream, not knowing how to get out. Not knowing what lies ahead. Not knowing if they’ll even survive this madness that manifested in a form of an endless maze. Not—

Jeno swallowed. He made a sharp intake of air and blew it on Renjun’s grim expression. The latter’s eyes shot back at him.

The younger simply smiled reassuringly. Renjun felt his hand weigh on his shoulder, all warm and securing.

“Who knows what they could be doing downstairs though…” Jeno pulled away from him and slid a hand to an array of hung outfits in an open closet.

“Jaemin’s dad mentioned about carving pumpkins and—”

“And Mark’s probably carving it with a pair of scissors—you know, typical Mark things,”

Renjun laughed.

The thought of an entranced Mark in an endeavor of not only cutting his fruits with a pair of scissors but also half of his brain cells was enough to relieve the tautness out of him.

Jeno shrugged. Mischief and elation were dancing in the crescent slits of eyes. “When in doubt, make fun of Mark.”

After regaining composure from the fleeting joyous moment, Renjun arched a brow as his eyes darted at Jeno’s reflection. Who decided it was a good idea to wear a pair of glasses whilst the latter tousled his hair?

“Those frames don’t suit you,” Renjun said bluntly.

“No shit, it’s all very… _Jaemin_,” Jeno scoffed, placing the glasses back to where he found them and feebly attempted to toss his hair back to its original form.

“Jaemin has a certain style? Don’t we all dress the same?”

The inquiry was left in the open air.

“What’s the plan? Are we climbing out the window, Romeo?” Jeno asked, seconds between the stillness. He had Renjun’s beret on and the latter wondered if the headwear complements with the frames from earlier.

“Well, since I managed to wake you up, I was planning to do the same for the others,” Renjun nonchalantly replies, repressing the tingles on the back of his head.

Crackles of bones were heard from Jeno as he tilted his head from side to side. “Hmmm, good plan. Pretty risky though… It’s two of us and…”—he erected seven of his fingers before saying—“this many of them,”

“But if it works, congratulations to me~” Renjun did a sing-song voice and bopped an index finger on Jeno’s nose. “We just gotta formulate a proper strategy to wake them up two by two without something bad happening, that’s all,”

“And if this turns into some fiasco…?” Jeno removed the beret to place back on the Chinese’s head.

The rapper was becoming agitated. Renjun could tell from the younger’s constant tapping on his own thighs.

Renjun had wondered how on earth he looked so dazed and hypnotized just by wearing the head accessory. He steers his head away from his reflection. “Okay, um… seeing how we’re the only ones left; let’s make a run for it—without them. Come up with something—Inception style.”

“We’re pulling an Inception?” Jeno looked at him as though the Chinese had grown three heads and an electric socket for a mouth.

“What, did I speak broken Korean again? Did I fucking stutter?” Renjun countered pettily.

Jeno raised his hands in defense and shrugged at the same time. “All I’m saying is you can’t be sure that we’re asleep and then considering on killing ourselves out of the blue…”

Renjun retracted his mental cat claws and sighed.

He tousled Jeno’s hair once again, unheeded the taller boy’s protests when he unsealed two of his buttons and his own and unrolled his own sleeves. Content with his work, he faced Jeno who was gaping in bafflement, anticipating an explanation. Who wouldn’t be when the consent of touch was embezzled from him?

Renjun rolled his eyes. “It’s called an ‘illicit affair’ look, now stop whining, no jam. And here I thought you were an actor…”

He could've sworn he saw shifting gears on top of Jeno before he mouthed an “oh” as pink dusted both ends of his face.

Renjun’s lips formed a straight line supposedly to play it off as cool if only his ears didn’t burn to give it all away.

“I don’t-”

“We just have to look presentable. Presentable in an ‘I just cheated on my own husband with his best friend on his own bed’ sorta way, got it?” Renjun found himself untucking his white polo as well as disheveling his hair out of the beret.

He set foot on a newfound confidence that he disregarded the stammering mess that is Lee Jeno.

Said teen nodded absentmindedly when Renjun looped arms with him.

Renjun pictured a scene from Inception—the movie he’d watch with Jaemin every other night, figures it was useful to use his movie skills here—before moving the chair out of the way from the door.

“So you’re saying that we just had—”

“No jam, keep that mouth shut or so help me I will—… yes, that’s the only excuse we have. You have any brighter ideas?”

Okay, never mind.

Renjun wonders if he really wants to convey to the people who it may matter most to that he just had “sex”; decides that he really doesn't have much of a choice in this case.

They came back to the dining room.

He felt himself shrink underneath their empty gaze whilst constricting Jeno’s arm with his own. 

His confidence, where? 

Oh, she took off, jumped out to oblivion; never to be fucking seen ever again.

Jeno scrunched his nose in discomfort but kept composure, nonetheless.

Renjun lets go of him.

“We got caught up,” Jeno says, plopping back to his empty seat beside Chenle whose upturned smiles made it seem like he was the odd one out in this _exquisite_ tea party. “Sorry ‘bout that…”

Jaemin’s maternal figure fixated her stare on Renjun. The pregnant pause hung up in the air made Renjun feel unbearably suffocated.

“Your _abeonim_ carved without you. But we put some plates so you wouldn’t miss out.”

Renjun gave a slight nod, suddenly mute, and awkwardly sat back down beside his _beloved_ (he supposed), “That’s, um, very thoughtful of you.”

Jeno volleyed a look at him from across the table.

What the hell was he supposed to say next then? _Not to bring up something maliciously weird but I was intending on slapping your son—my husband—in front of you guys. Hopefully y’all won’t kill me or something ha-ha!_

No.

Jeno sighed, but plastered one of his dazzling smiles before he called out Donghyuck, mentioned some bro-to-bro heterosexual heart-talks on how not to be a bachelor anymore, declared some form of toxic masculinity that ‘expressing ones emotions in the middle of this luxury food’ is ‘off-putting and unmanly’ and they disappeared into the hallway.

Huh, go figure.

Renjun felt the sweat fluctuating out of the pores of his hands. The curdling feeling made his senses all blurry.

He warily took a glance at the others on the table; perceives that they were all focused back on their food.

“Jaeminnie,” Renjun says, motioning an area of privacy through the fake coughs and clearing of the throat.

At least, he tried his best at aiming for a Jeno-quality acting role.

They both walked out of the dining room soon after. Renjun made an effort to ignore the scorches of their stares on the back of his head while he leads his _beloved_ away from the freakiest dinner he has ever experienced.

Mental scenarios of fuck ups were manifold as well as the sole cause of his shaky breaths. He hadn’t realized that his sweaty hand was in a tight grip on Jaemin’s soft yet cold-to-touch ones.

Renjun couldn’t distinguish the perpetrator of the sinking feeling in his stomach—if it was because of the risk of failing this or the fact that Jaemin’s eyes, so hollowly smitten that made it seem so dreamlike that, might he realized, if he could take his time to make this worthwhile.

That he hoped this dream could last because finally… finally…! _The_ Na Jaemin was looking at him the same way he does to him.

Right then and there, if he could, he would.

Maybe he would. The distance was narrowly juxtaposed.

“OW, MOTHER_FUCKER!_”

There were slapping noises—twice, Renjun had counted—in between curses somewhere further away in the hallway.

Renjun looked at the side—forgetting what had invaded his thoughts—and smiled to himself.

Bingo.

He looked at Jaemin one last time. The Jaemin that was so enamored… so head over heels in love…

The Chinese shook his head. The tempest of ideals he had in mind dissipated almost completely.

They were too good to be true anyway.

It would’ve been hilarious, Renjun concludes, if Jaemin’s comedic, voice-cracked of a cry when the abrupt force of his hand landed on the younger’s cheek was in the IDOL ROOM setting.

Jaemin bent over, rests his face on his arm that was on the wall—free hand on the sore spot.

They stayed like that for what it felt like a millennium.

“Jaemin, I’m—”

Jaemin whipped around without a warning—personal space at bare minimum.

Renjun jumped; prays that the dimmed lights from the chandelier above wouldn’t make his blush too obvious. His not-so-alleged “husband” walked out of their centimeters of space and out in the middle of the hallway, pacing left then right.

“What the hell is going on? One minute it was darkness…”

“Nana…”

“And suddenly—”

“Na _Jaemin_, if you could please _quiet down?!_”

Jaemin shuts up and runs a hand through his hair. Renjun pitied the bewilderment that blazed on the taller teen’s face. He wishes he has the answers to everything more than ever.

This time Jaemin looked at Renjun.

“Why the heck did you slap me?” Jaemin demands. Renjun was glad that the former’s striking auburn eyes were full of demeanor again. He didn’t care that the slight accusatory tone was on him.

Anything was better than plain blank and creepy.

“You were brainwashed,” was all Renjun could muster, “No other way to cure it.”

The youngest among the four simply gawked at him before catching Renjun off-guard again with his embrace.

Tension relieved out from them the moment Renjun returns the notion.

“So are you telling me where we are now or…?”

Renjun laughed briefly as they pulled away. He ignored the coldness that stung his shoulder due to Jaemin’s soaked tears.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Renjun replied simply, pretending not to notice the same silver hoop that was hugging Jaemin’s ring finger. “But all we know is that this place is your house.”

* * *

Jisung arrived in his designated hotel room in no longer than fifteen minutes, looking tired beyond belief but happy nonetheless.

By happy, he means bewildered because _what_ is Chenle doing on the chair at the foot of the entrance?

“I’ve been waiting…”

Oh, _right_.

“Good evening to you too, hyung,”

Chenle rolled his eyes. “I knew you’d stop by at the convenience store just to bribe me but listen here Mr. Park, today’s not the day.”

He takes the plastic bag of junk food from Jisung’s grasp anyways; under his breath, says that it actually worked and he never woke any of their hyungs or something like that.

A grin ghosted in Jisung’s mouth as he wedged his slim body at the slits of whatever blocked path that Chenle made via the chair. He was high-induced with restlessness from his events prior; couldn’t care less if he was tattled on or not.

“Okay you win, I hate you so much, mochi.” Chenle’s voice hooked Jisung’s attention that made him do a 180-degree turn—dance style.

They stared for a while before laughter erupts out of their mouths. It gets carried away from there.

Neither of them knows the reason behind their hilarity, not that Jisung should complain anyway. Eye-smiles and bliss for him were apparently a hidden Chenji language he didn’t know about.

Some things never changed between them, really and he was grateful for it. He usually likes to think of this form of life he currently resides in as Chenle opens a flurry of topics to tackle on with him.

While Jisung half-listens intently—don’t tell Chenle, he usually thinks of how behind the public’s birds-eye view, they’re mere teenagers no matter what; living a youthful life where you half-ass everything at this age—you know, life stuff.

His intuition allowed him to face the culprit of burning holes at the back of his head. Mark Lee, the eldest, was standing with his arms crossed at the doorway that connects the hotel rooms. He leans on said doorway; his face—unreadable.

But he pouts in the cutest way possible. Jisung wondered who really the eldest among the seven of them is.

“Where’s my treat, baby chick?” Mark’s eyes gleamed. How he did it, Jisung trying to find that answer was futile.

Jisung smiled the same magnitude of cuteness as he could come up with as he jokingly—unsubtly—hides the plastic bag contained with the junk food he bought. “_Yah!_ You’re so selfish!” Mark chastised as the outbreak of laughter filled the room to the brim once again.

When it died down, Mark flipped his ‘serious hyung’ mode. “Hey you two, have you guys taken the supplements?”

Supplements…?

“Supplements? What supplements?” Chenle, somehow the theft of Jisung’s thoughts, tilted his head while Jisung looked at the eldest like he was an organic life form from Area 51. 

Mark did the same; was about to press further on the subject but he frowned looking a lot older. He closed his mouth.

Jisung’s not going to lie but he did feel the surge of sour familiarity tickling his taste buds though. But trying to tell his brain to project the past just to recall made his head ache when it left missing pieces.

“Um, never mind… You guys wanna play the Switch? I’ll go get the extra joy-controllers!” Mark skedaddled awkwardly to the connected rooms.

Chenle lifted up the atmosphere while chuckling. He nudges Jisung’s arm with his elbow. “He’s getting it anyway… he'd lose to a bet that I’m about to place.”

Jisung laughs too, _forcibly_.

It didn't take long but the hair on the back of Jisung’s neck raise when a bloodcurdling scream sliced through the air.

* * *

Jeno and Donghyuck were already in the room that Jaemin and Renjun shared no sooner had the aforementioned couple arrived.

Renjun placed a fist on his left chest. His heart was swelling with absolute relief just by seeing them alive and being, well, _them_.

That's four out of seven. Then he can lay ease.

Renjun shuts the door and, like before, wedges the chair underneath it. He turns on the lights and double-checked on his friends if they have any traces of robotic-trance in them.

You never know when you least expect it after all, Renjun stated. Or maybe the delusional in him played with his mind that he was in the movies he has watched.

Renjun grunted when he plopped his butt near the edge of the bed. Donghyuck was beside him, goofiness of his greeting discarding a slight giggle out of him. Donghyuck was being Donghyuck as usual.

The Korean placed an arm around him as they watched the reunion of the other two.

He witnessed their not-so-subtle affections in the form of physical contacts. As they should

He was happy for them. 

… As he should

He wasn't at all fazed.

Renjun bit his lip.

“We get it; we're single, _gosh_, I have eyes,”—Donghyuck emphasizes when he nearly poked his said face part gesturing them—“I can see. Can we please plan now?”

Okay thank goodness for Lee Donghyuck.

The mood lifts up a little for everyone.

Jaemin giddily grinned, almost the same way when he was in a robotic-trance. “So, Mr. Detective,”

“Or the mister in Jaemin's life if you concur,” Jeno interjects. The mischief in his eye smiles made Renjun want to be someplace else—even considering the dining room, just not here. He did a fake-gag.

The mood lifts up a little for everyone. Renjun isn't a part of everyone.

He wishes for the floor to devour him whole when Jaemin and Donghyuck put on a confused face. Renjun didn't want to justify this wild dream again like a seared reminder.

Renjun stood up, expectations of answers casted on him. He sighed. “Technically, wherever we are—_when_ever we are—uh, Jaemin and I are,”—He cleared his throat—“apparently… married… against our will.”

He stands the photo back up again that was exposed for everyone’s eyes—the way the formalities would flow, even in the blankest of smiles.

Jaemin’s face emanated dozens of emotions layered at once before he twists the ring he realized was clung around him.

“And this,” Renjun lifted up another standing frame and tossed it to Donghyuck whose reflexes caught it on time, “signifies that you’re married to Mark.”

The other vocalist stared at the photo in odd fascination.

Renjun caught a whiff of vintage bursting in the antique walls of this very room. Nothing to feel really other than a lick of flame can easily break down the mansion, he supposes. He chased away those twisted thoughts.

He saw Jeno’s reflection in the mirror standing up. The latter walked around the room and stood beside him before taking another photo atop the dresser.

“So what we know so far…” Jeno began, “Is that this is Jaemin’s mansion, everyone but apparently Renjun is in a trance-like state, I’m pretty much the only bachelor among us, Chenle’s face scares me just as much as everyone’s brainwashed smiles does and we have little to no idea what brought us here.”

Jeno showed Renjun a wedding photo of Mark and Donghyuck with five other figures—presumably them, with genuine smiles this time.

A little queasy, he goes back to sitting on the bed.

“So what do we do?” Jaemin perked up and all three heads pivoted to face him. Jaemin blinked in confusion, “What? It’s not real so… We just need to pull off an Inception, right?”

Jeno tilted his head and faced Renjun. All alarmed.

Renjun figured it was something important but what he got was, “Didn’t you say the same thing to me?"

Donghyuck’s fits of his laughter reverberated around the room before setting the photo down on Jaemin’s bed. “This is why you guys are married in the first place! Y’all think so alike!”

Jaemin frowned. “This _is_ a dream, right?”

The cluelessness made an answer just from the shrugging gestures. Donghyuck crossed his arms and his eyes squinted at a random ceiling. “It must be a prank cam or something…? Where are the cameras?”

“If that were the case, you guys would’ve known you were hypnotized.” Renjun commented grimacing out of habit every time Donghyuck breathes stupidity.

Jeno scrunched his nose looking around the room with acuteness.

Jaemin nodded along and scratch the back of his head. “Very solid point… Now, what’s the plan Mr. Na?”

Renjun rolled his eyes at the unnecessary surname. Really, it’s not like images popped up in his head again. Still, he managed to respond despite the haziness. “Like you said, carry out an Inception.” He cracked his fingers—anything to keep his mind from running. “And since when did we collectively agree that I’ll take your surname if we ever get married…?”

The tone wasn’t meant to be serious… or so Renjun thinks.

Jeno pursed his lips when his attention turned to Renjun while Donghyuck looked at the Chinese with concern.

Jaemin flushed.

“It was a joke…” He begins but he trails off.

“I don’t think it’s that deep—if not, important right now, Injun. How about we focus on how to save the other three before we pull off that ‘Inception’ thing? Then, we’ll debate on that surname thing later, okay?” There Jeno goes; being the voice of fucking reason.

But alas, Renjun thought those images were permanently gone. The uninvited ideals came into his head—Jaemin in a white suit, Jaemin very in love the first thing he sees beside him on a pillow, Jaemin holding a toddler in his arms, Jaemin progressively having wrinkles, Jaemin with natural gray hair sitting on a rocking chair with him—all on repeat until it became a commotion that bypass his eyes.

Renjun hadn’t realized that he toppled off the bed; his butt harshly planted on the cold floor. He had vivid hallucinations of the debris falling on him while the room’s walls unstably topple over him.

The tang of bitterness left a scorching hot trail on his taste buds. The irregular palpitations quickened—his heart ached. They went by too fast; it was deemed too difficult to comprehend.

“I-I just don’t want it to be real…” Renjun dug his blunt nails in his palms, squeezing his face tight when said palms meet the temples of his head.

He doesn’t give a damn if his friends were all stunned just by watching him have a peak level meltdown on the spot.

Jeno’s right, it shouldn’t be important right now. Then again, Renjun couldn’t tame the several emotions that flowed out of him.

If this were a dream, none of it should matter, right?

Renjun was hyperventilating and- were there tears pinpricking his eyes? He looks through his knees the moment he embraced them; counted three pairs of identical shoe brands shimmering beneath the artificial light. The ringing sounds lasted long all the while.

He’s supposed to be level-headed. Why does he, of all people, have to have a series of meltdowns like these?

There's someone crouching in front of him, someone telling him to breathe, telling him to calm down, telling him that they probably don't have much time to figure out what's going on.

No, it wasn’t Jaemin.

But isn’t it always him.

It’s actually Jeno.

So constant and so safeguarding in his arms… Lee Jeno.

Renjun’s a goddamn mess.

Very abhorring, Renjun must say.

He hates how the familiar feelings would envelope the pit of his stomach—when he thinks about Jaemin in every step of the way—and now he doesn’t know what’s triggering it anymore. 

He felt a switch just flick within him.

Renjun hates feeling this way.

He felt his upper back being rubbed but he knows how disgusting that feels when the slick sweat glued his polo.

“No you’re not.” Renjun managed to hear Jeno say even with the near-death of ringing noise in his ears. Renjun wondered if he said these aloud.

“I just- I don’t want- Yes I fucking am- Please don’t be real- I hate-” The vocalist was gasping. He felt like he was wearing a really tight corset—not that he’s experienced wearing one.

“You hate what, Renjunnie?” The hazy visions he was having was starting to disperse—slowly then all at once and- here was Jaemin, in his reassuringly soft voice; on the bed and stroking Renjun’s back. “What don’t you want to be real?”

He sees Donghyuck on his peripheral view, stood frozen and worried; from the looks of it, was watching the chaotic scene unfold the entire time.

“These. All of it.” Renjun covered his mouth; scared of the publicity of his gross sobbing. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve to live like this. I don't deserve _you_, Jaemin, you’re already too happy and-”

“Listen…” Donghyuck began; somehow shook off the stunned state he had. He crouched on his right and ran an affectionate hand through his hair when he removed the beret. “I know, for sure, that I do _not_ know what’s going on with this uproar—ooh, my vocabulary~ I’m eloquent with my highfaluting words!”

Renjun let out a snort but his bloodshot eyes revealed a twinkle of joy.

Donghyuck smiled when he took notice of it. “Look, the point is: no one’s forcing you and no one here is telling you to live your life like this, you hear me?”

Jaemin pressed his face on Renjun’s shoulder—typically affectionate that he is. “He’s right, you know?”’

Renjun, still encased in his hug, felt Jeno rocked side to side slightly. He released his knees and hugged him back when Jeno whispered sweet nothings in his ear; how they're going to leave this wretched place as seven DREAM; how they're going to be certain that they’ll be complete and no matter what happens, they’ll always love their spunky Chinese boy.

Renjun clutched the back of Jeno’s polo tightly and he trembled.

He found his rhythm in breathing again.

No more foggy thoughts—he was certain—to clog his air sacs with toxicity.

Renjun hiccupped.

He signaled for the two to let him go. He would've been completely fine were it not for his wobbly knees. Otherwise, fine.

He stood on his own two feet.

“Will you be okay? You can stay here for at least a while” Jaemin pressed on and his hand snaked on Renjun’s arm.

The shorter teen smiled his genuine one.

“Come on guys,” his determination spread like wildfire. “Let's rescue the others.”

Donghyuck nodded once. He crosses to the window, unlatches it, and tries to push it up and open. It doesn't budge.

Figures…

“_Great_. How are we supposed to get out though? The windows wouldn't budge…” Donghyuck chimed in.

“Well, I guess it looks like we’re left with the first thing they’ll expect,” Jeno replies. His voice mellowed to a normal level. “We’ll try the front door.”

Renjun’s the first one out of the door; Donghyuck and Jaemin followed suit with Jeno covering the back.

They heard other footsteps. Renjun gestured a ‘keep quiet’ and he could tell from the looks of their eyes that they’re just as alarmed as he was.

With the featherlike steps of their feet they were stealthy with their movements, making it to the arched entrance of the dining room with silent ease—save it for when Jeno almost knocked down an expensive-looking vase.

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

The four teenagers leaned against the wall with the growing uncertainty of what’s new to see in the dining area. Renjun halted them with a hand gesture as he craned his neck just enough to steal a peek on whatever goes on.

Renjun purposely bit his tongue.

Mark Lee would’ve looked normal and harmless except for the fact that his cute smile had a sinister demeanor all over… And the fact that he was all alone there—the obvious bait

… And the fact that he was staring—or the lack thereof—at the entrance to the room

Renjun paled and quickly withdrew his head just to stare at the sullen paintings across him. The dim atmosphere sent jolts of terror all over him.

“I don’t like that look.” Donghyuck remarked under his breath, “Not one bit…”

Renjun rapidly blinked. It didn’t help on stopping the image of the ominous blackness of Mark’s sclera on both eyes to wedge perpetually in the back of his mind.

If that were the case, who knows what would’ve happened to…

“Earth to Renjun, do you copy?” Jaemin waved a hand in front of Renjun.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Renjun made a strangled voice, “_Now_.”

It turns out they really did expect them to escape through the door.

The main door was heavily guarded by none other than Jaemin’s own mother—whose sinister look was just as bad, if not, worse than Mark’s. She holds a wooden spoon to symbolize the irony of her supposed innocence.

“You left your food.” The woman’s synthetic voices blended in a hypnotic harmony; she cooed and leaned against the door all unstable and one-hundred percent creepy. Her all-black eyes glinted devilishly in the buzzing flicker of the giant chandelier high up. “That’s very impolite.”

Jeno gasped when none other than their creepy dark-eyed Chenle encasing him in a headlock.

A profound inhumane strength was enough to make Jeno struggle under his _dongsaeng_’s tight grip—all that while smiling so robotically.

Renjun noticed the lights gradually getting dimmer and dimmer. His eyes widened when the processing of information struck him concurrently the moment Donghyuck panicked and yelled at them to stop, as though they were going to submit to his demands.

He saw Jaemin’s knees quiver as he looked at every scene with the same magnitude level of terror. The need to protect had broken Renjun’s frozen stance as he rushed forward to grab Jaemin’s wrist.

Renjun witnessed Jeno, with his newfound strength, swiftly elbowing the younger Chinese by the stomach; the older broke free from the brutal grasps. Chenle crumpled on the floor.

Jeno and Donghyuck followed suit to the dining area.

Renjun heard Donghyuck shrieking profanities that were so colorful that it put the LGBTQ+ flag to shame.

His legs pivoted towards said area.

They saw Mark standing up from his chair the moment their shoes tapped the floor of the dining room in multiples.

“I got this!” Donghyuck screeched when soon-to-be broken vase collided with Mark’s head. The latter crumpled at the archway.

It was no time to dilly-dally questioning how Donghyuck grabbed hold of a vase out of the blue.

They skid into the kitchen. Renjun releases Jaemin as he rifles in the drawer. He pulls out something and grabs a candlestick, putting it on the cabinet.

Back to the dining room, Renjun hissed a request in recklessly stripping the tablecloth. Jeno carefully trudged forward in assistance. The containers all broke and lamp oil vastly spread on the floor.

“Nana, get the candlestick in the kitchen,” Renjun said.

Said rapper obliged and he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Wait, are we going to burn this place?” Donghyuck asked, regaining balance after almost slipping from the liquid beneath him.

When Jaemin got back with a lit up candlestick, everyone froze.

Renjun saw the couple and their son staring dead on.

“Eomma, appa… I love you guys very much.” Jaemin shuts his eyes; inhaled shakily. He opens them and rage flickered in his eyes. “But come near us or I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

That was the side Jaemin rarely displays.

Renjun looks at him, at his defiant expression, his bold stance, and almost believes that they'll let them go, until, suddenly, there's a grotesque noise, and Jaemin jerks, his eyes go wide.

Blood begins to drip from his mouth as he coughs and chokes and makes small sounds of unbearable _agony_. He drops-dead, releasing the candlestick and dropping it into the lamp oil.

It immediately lights up the tablecloth.

But Renjun wasn’t focusing on that.

He's looking at none other than Park Jisung, the maknae.

The maknae who adored Jaemin the most…

He was standing over Jaemin’s body—fading fast, holding the bloody carving knife that he just pierced Jaemin in the back with.

“Sweet dreams, hyung…” Jisung’s brainwashed voice was a mere whisper but it echoed in the blur of slow motion. Fire soon engulfed both of them.

He smiled his typical smile—only the inked sclera made it eerie.

Renjun went back to regular motion when Jeno, who never screams—always so decorous, began to spiral into hysteria as he cried for the corpse’s name.

Tongues of fire encouraged the fireplace to think outside of the box. The blaze tasted the walls of the room that was once so uncanny yet homey.

Jeno endeavored to reach out to where Jaemin is but Donghyuck grabs hold of his wrist—out-strengths him and they ran around the fire. Jaemin’s mom chased after them.

Renjun hadn’t realized that Jaemin’s father stood in front of him and his eyes widened when time slows down once more.

“Look what you’ve done.” The old man simply said, “Always so scared, so vulnerable; always so dependent on your friends.”

He gestured to the cataclysm that slumbered in the dining room. “You could’ve saved them all. But you didn’t. At the end of the day, you’ll be failure. You’ll always be a failure.”

There was a certain force of pressure that gushed out from the crack-formed dam. Renjun didn’t know what broke in him but his vision fogged up. Mayhap it was because everything good that he does; life would retaliate with shit. And he was tired of it.

Before he knew it, the paternal figure was on the floor; his knuckles were raw and bruised.

Renjun runs out of the fire that made confetti in the dining room—now with four bodies that ornamented it.

The inferno seethed the life essence of the mansion as it kept in pace of Renjun’s running speed.

He finds an unconscious woman and Chenle on the floor as well as Jeno and Donghyuck who were both struggling to bash down the door that was apparently locked up tight.

Jeno was crying, infuriated, and he hiccupped from all the sobs that grinded somewhere within him. The graffiti of emotional pain was clear to Renjun.

The shock factor hasn’t settled and the moments had to subconsciously replay in his head. Renjun was still alert with fright, and ire and adrenaline—all pumping in his veins.

His eye watered from hell’s brought up arson in the main room eliminating the nature of breathing. Pyro ran through the alveoli of each individual.

Renjun’s vision became doubled; his breath shortened. And with that, his knees buckled while embracing the release of darkness in his field of vision.

Renjun woke up with a start at the backseat of a pickup truck, Jeno’s he assumed. The first thing he heard was the gradually coherent talking of Donghyuck’s voice.

“Hey, he’s awake!” Donghyuck said from the front seat, albeit too loudly for Renjun’s ears.

Renjun blinked and noticed the tattered sleeves of his soot-stained polo. He looked at the remaining two and choked back a sob.

_Jaemin was gone._

“We need to get you to a hospital…” He heard Jeno speak, rather hoarsely. He coughs; worsens over time when he tries to speak. They were all covered with soot; their clothes were deteriorated.

“What do you mean, Jeno, I-”

Donghyuck looked back again and held Renjun’s second-degree burned arms.

Renjun can see the view of the Na manor—or from what it looks like a sun on earth just a few yards away. His arms felt numb from the pain for some reason; in fact, the tingles crackled among them.

Renjun blinked—an image of Jaemin’s eyes losing its life essence before rolling at the back of his head flashed in his head. He blinked rapidly and the scenario replayed.

“We need to keep moving. We can’t stay here.” Renjun says.

Donghyuck looked at the rear view mirror and asked, “So what do you suggest?”

“Inception…” Renjun simply replied.

Donghyuck cracked his fingers, pretty chill about going along with the plan. He puts the keys on ignition. “Okay then, Jeno get out of the driver’s seat I’m ramming this truck to a tree.”

Jeno protests—at anything really and it set off Renjun to soothe him back down.

“No, Jeno, listen.”

“Injun, _no_, you listen.”

He shuts up. Jeno turns to face him and what he didn’t realize that the repulsive burn was on the side of his neck; it sprouted some blisters from the looks of it. His cheeks were dry—possibly an aftermath of crying.

His face was hardened but Jeno was an open book when all emotions were delivered in his eyes.

Renjun stared back the same intense level.

“I’m beginning to have doubts, okay?” Jeno pursed his lips and looked down. Renjun noticed another tear trailing down his cheek. “Like how can you be so sure? How can you be so _certain_?

Donghyuck made annoying tap noises.

Jeno licked his dried lips; flinches at the taste of soot and furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t know after seeing… _all_ that, I was thinking maybe we could just send you—us—to a hospital first before we plan something out and maybe...”

Renjun shook his head, took a sharp intake of air and blew it on Jeno’s grim expression. Renjun smiled—at least tried to but it was genuine.

He patted reassuringly on Jeno’s cheek. “If it was real, Jaemin would’ve made it out of here. Alive… Life couldn’t be that cruel to just take him away just like that.”

Some of the doubts fled in his striking brown hues. But Jeno could all but sigh.

“I’ve been totally into the plan since you first mentioned it anyway…” They looked at Donghyuck who was already slouching and putting his legs out of the open window.

So much for subtlety.

Jeno grumbled under his breath after the absence of Renjun’s touch was, well, absent. “Yeah okay let’s do it; not knowing the possibilities.”

When Jeno carefully plops at the backseat, he sees Donghyuck taking trial and error, all while swearing.

Forty empty ‘I-got-it’s later, Donghyuck takes ignition and shifts the stick. They started moving backwards.

“Which tree…?” Renjun peeked outside and Jeno motioned the exact specific tree is—just downhill where it’s enough to pick up the pace.

Donghyuck readies this scientific experiment minus the fact that they themselves are the test subjects.

“Are you nervous?” Renjun asked, meant to lighten up the mood before they enter the jaws of death.

“Is it possible to not be under these circumstances?!” Donghyuck yelped.

“Okay, good. Go!”

And Donghyuck impulsively obliges. Because, after all, they can either die tonight or wake up and laugh about it in a few years.

The car picked up speed and before they knew it they were zipping downhill.

But once more, Renjun felt time turn sluggish but the screaming of Donghyuck remained.

He looked at Jeno and the latter mirrored the notion. The Lee Jeno he once saw as a storm after the calm.

Renjun’s familiar feelings were back but the storm had died down—leaving ominous clouds of ambiguity of the future.

There was fear in Jeno’s eyes and Renjun didn’t want to see the repulsive look of his face that would trail after.

It’s now or never, Renjun thinks.

Lips crashed against Jeno’s, the pickup truck’s wheels barreled down at a hazardous speed.

Renjun accepts a moment of calm right before the windshield smashes in and Donghyuck’s screams.


End file.
